


The Devil You Know

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: 2 Fast 2 Furious (2003), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, M/M, Post-Movie, Racist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Verone comes after Brian with vengeance on his mind, but gets more than he's bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Know

Brian wondered with what Verone's lawyer had to bribe the judge to get him to let the bastard out on bail. He also wondered why Verone hadn't come for Rome – not that he wanted Rome to get into this kind of trouble, but it would be comforting that they were in this together and could work on a way out of it. Alone, the odds were against Brian.

He didn't even have a fucking clue where he was. The last thing he remembered was that he had stepped into his apartment to find Carter Verone sprawled lazily on his couch, gun pointed at his chest. "Now if that isn't my old friend Brian O'Connor," Verone had drawled, sarcastic smirk on his lips. "Long time, no see."

'Not long enough,' Brian was going to say, but before he had the chance to even get his mouth open, he had felt a hard impact on his head and darkness had engulfed him.

That was, he supposed, how he came to sit tied to a chair in a plain cellar he didn't recognize. Not his place anymore, but that was about the only thing he could say for sure. He didn't know he long he had been out. Didn't know if this was even Miami, or if they'd dragged him God-knows-where. It could be Mexico, for all he knew. Or Russia. Or Antarctica. Could be fucking anywhere.

The one thing he did know was that it didn't deem well that he was still alive. It wasn't as if Verone had any use for him, so if this was revenge, and he didn't have a bullet buried in his brain yet, that meant that the bastard wouldn't be satisfied with just killing him. Brian wondered if the rat would make a reappearance. _Fuck._ He knew he shouldn't sit here imagining all the horrors Verone might put him through. Problem was, there was preciously little else to do, as he waited for Verone or his goons to come down to get him. _If_ they would come. There was always the chance that they'd just leave him here to rot. Then again, Verone wouldn't get to witness his demise that way, so Brian pretty much ruled that out.

His head ached. He was tired and sore and just wanted to go home. He didn't even know how long he'd been sitting here. It felt like hours, but he knew it might very well only be twenty minutes. Without any clock in sight, it was damn hard to tell. Even harder to tell how long he would still be here.

Forcing himself to relax and not think of torture, he focused on the wall opposite him. Eventually, he fell asleep.

He was awoken by a forceful slap that almost knocked him over. "A bit too comfortable, aren't we?" Verone asked, and Brian noted uneasily that the earlier veneer of nonchalance had vanished. The man was angry, furiously though, and he didn't hide it. "Well, I'm sure I can amend that."

The fist that slammed into his stomach drove the air out of his lungs and would have had Brian crouching over, if his ties were allowing it. 

"Fuck!" Brian winced in pain, gritting his teeth. He scanned the room from the corner of his eye. No goons. Verone was alone this time. Somehow, the knowledge failed to comfort him. He was sure he could take the other man in a one on one fight, but not when he was bound and unarmed, and Verone clearly wasn't.

"Look man, I –"

Another blow silenced him. "You fucked my girl," Verone hissed. "And I promise you, you will pay for it."

 _Shit!_ Brian hadn't expected that. He thought this was revenge for the arrest, but if this was about Monica, it was more personal. Infinitely more dangerous. Not to mention fucking ridiculous, considering Monica had never really been 'Verone's girl' in the first place. Talk about misplaced male ego. "I didn't! I didn't even fucking touch her!"

He hadn't thought that the blows could get any harder. Apparently, he was wrong. He screamed, and was promptly rewarded with a backhand. "Okay, okay, I kissed her. I kissed her once!" He realized he was babbling, but he couldn't stop himself. Somehow, he suddenly thought he'd prefer dealing with the rat than having Verone beating him into a bloody pulp. "I never did anything else, I swear."

"You should have," Verone replied. Brian looked up in confusion. Blue eyes were glittering with cold fury. "Because you'll never get to touch another woman again."

Hysterical laughter welled up before he could stop it. As threats go, this had to be one of the worst he ever heard. He knew that the smartass reply that was on the tip of his tongue would most likely get him killed, but he let it out all the same. "I think I can live with that. I don't even like women." It was stupid to rile Verone, basically telling him, 'Hey, how's that, you lost your woman to a fag' – except that he hadn't lost her to Brian, of course – but Brian had never claimed to be smart, and it was not like his situation could get any worse. And if he could get Verone angry enough to end this quickly, all the better.

There was a moment of silence. The rain of blows he had expected didn't fall. Verone's voice was quiet, almost amused, almost… intrigued. "You're a faggot?" 

Brian didn't like the… peculiar expression on Verone's face. He just shrugged. 

Verone snorted. "Should have known. You and that nigger boyfriend of yours…" Brian's expression darkened at the mention of Rome, but Verone just laughed. He took a gun from his waistband and lazily stroked it over Brian's cheeks in a mock caress. Brian's insides tightened as he waited for the shot.

It didn't come. Instead, Verone's free hand unzipped his jeans and took a step towards the bound man that brought him close enough to touch. _Shit,_ Brian thought as he realized where this was heading. _This wasn't quite what I had in mind…_ Before he had the chance to protest, however, he found himself pushed forward until his face was buried in Verone's groin. He was about to recoil, but then he felt the gun against his temple. 

"I feel teeth, your brain is splattered against the wall over there," Verone warned. "And we wouldn't want to get the wall all dirty and messy, would be?"

Brian would have answered, if he hadn't found himself with a mouthful of Carter Verone's cock, and the notion that only his talents to give head might get him out of this mess. Not that he thought for a second that Verone might actually release him if he was satisfied with the job Brian did. But maybe, just maybe, the bastard would be inattentive for a moment and present him with a chance to escape.

It was difficult without his hands. The angle was awkward; and it didn't help that his mouth felt two sizes to small, his lips swollen from the earlier blows. But he seemed to be doing fine, judging from the noises Verone was making, and the way his gun traveled lazily over his cheek.

Verone was letting Brian set the pace for a few minutes, apparently happy with the way the younger man's tongue moved around his cock, sucking and lapping and stroking, before his fingers tangled in Brian's hair and he started to fuck his face, setting a brutal rhythm. It didn't take him long to finish off, and when he was just coming he pulled out halfway through his orgasm, shooting all over Brian's face.

Brian gasped for air. Once he had regained his composure, he looked up to Verone's smirking face, and wished he could wipe the smug look off with a blow. 

"You're better than I thought you'd be." In his bounds, Brian clenched his fists. That was a compliment he could have done without. "Tell you what – I'm in a generous mood today; I'll offer you a deal. I'll untie you and we will go up to my bedroom, where you'll proceed to show me just how good you really are. And if you're very, very lucky, I will decide that you'll have your uses after all and won't kill you. So, what do you say, Brian?"

 _Fuck you._ But instead, he muttered, "I... I'd like that." 

Verone laughed. "No, you don't. You're hating every minute of it, but that's okay." He stepped behind Brian and cut through the ropes that tied him to the chair. "Another thing. You try anything – now or later, and my men will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. So you'd better behave."

 _There goes that plan!_ Brian rubbed his sore wrists and wiped his face off when he felt the muzzle of the gun digging into his back. 

"Get moving."

Brian got up and climbed up the stairs, Verone right at his back with the gun ready. The house was larger and more luxurious than he had expected. It was not quite the estate where they'd met first met, but it wasn't exactly a run-down hideaway either. "Where the hell are we?" Brian asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"Columbia."

He spun around and faced Verone, wide-eyed. "You've gotta be shitting me?!" 

"Nope. We ain't in Kansas anymore, kid. Or in your case, Miami. So if I were you I wouldn't get my hopes up too high that anyone came looking for you here." 

God, how he wished he could kick that face in until that grin was gone... Brian angrily stared at him. "They'll be looking for _you_ everywhere. They will find you, man."

Irritatingly, Verone reached up and patted his cheek in an almost patronizing manner. "Don't worry your pretty little head off. That's not your concern." His features hardened, and so did his voice: "And now I suggest you get your ass in gear, unless you want me to have it right here on the staircase."

Brian winced, and walked quicker.

The bedroom was on the top floor of the house, a large room with a king sized bed coved in dark red satin sheets being its most striking feature. Otherwise, it was sparsely furnished. _It suits him,_ was the first thought that entered Brian's mind. He wished his eyes wouldn't keep flickering to the bed. "So, how do you want me?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He didn't turn to face Verone, but it felt as if every fiber of his body was aware of the bastard's presence behind him.

He jumped when Verone's hands came down on his shoulders, the reflexive action provoking an amused chuckle.

"Now, listen to me. I'm not fond of rape." Whether Verone didn't hear the muttered, "Could have fooled me," or he just decided to let it slip – he went on as if Brian hadn't said a word. "I'm not forcing anyone to have sex with me. There's always another choice – granted, for you, it's not a terribly pleasant one, but you are here because you choose to be here, and I want to feel that when you're with me. No lying back, staring at the ceiling with a pained expression like a virgin sacrifice, got that?" 

Brian nodded, and Verone smirked. "Don't think of yourself as the victim here. More like a particularly pricey whore." He walked around the younger man and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Involuntarily, Brian had to laugh. "I wasn't aware you'd rate my life that high!"

"I don't. I just thought you would."

 _Fair enough,_ Brian thought, and stepped closer. He could do this. It wouldn't be the first time he fucked people because he had to. To win their trust or get himself out of a hopeless situation, and that wasn't even counting the months spent in juvie. And if he was honest with himself, most of them hadn't looked like Carter Verone. Yeah, he could do this. It would be a fucking walk in the park, really.

He took another step forward, forcing himself to relax when Verone reached out and hooked his fingers in Brian's waistband, drawing him in. "Now, let me see what I'm buying." The jeans came off under the deft hands, the shirt followed suit. "Turn around," Verone ordered. Brian felt like a slave in an auction, but complied, shivering under Verone's searing gaze. 

"Not bad." He could actually _hear_ the smirk in the bastard's voice and felt anger welling up, but the casual finger trailing down his lower back, dipping into the crease of his ass was too distracting.

He couldn't hold back a sardonic quip, though. "Glad I meet your requirements."

The sharp slap took him by surprise. All at once, his ass felt as if it was on fire.

"Let's reserve that judgment for later, shall we?" 

Brian was flung on the bed effortlessly. For a moment, he lay there, stunned, wondering if he should just lie down and take it. But Verone's earlier words came to mind, and he turned around, reaching for the other man. "Trust me, I will meet whatever requirements you set," he whispered, while his fingers struggled with the buttons of Verone's shirt. 

"Sure of yourself, are you?" 

Brian was, but he didn't reply. He let his body speak instead, as he arched up and trailed his lips down Verone's neck, evoking a soft gasp. Verone pressed closer, and Brian felt the swelling hardness pushing against his stomach. Smirking against the other man's skin, he reached between their bodies to cup Verone's cock through his jeans. He was rewarded with a whispered, "Fuck."

Like he thought. Walk in the park.

And then, he didn't think at all any more, just moved on instinct. The stakes were high, and he'd do his best to make this the best fuck the bastard ever had. There was no room for qualms, for second thoughts. For pride. He touched and tasted and begged and offered himself wholly, completely to the other man. Let himself be taken, consumed with a hunger that was unexpected. Didn't hold back anything, screaming when Verone finally slammed into him and fucked them both into oblivion.

Verone didn't speak, afterwards, and for a moment, Brian was afraid that it hadn't been enough. He was too tired to worry, however, even though his life was at stake, and he couldn't fight sleep any longer. In the morning, he was still alive. Cuffed to the bedpost, but alive. And somehow, that was enough to reassure him.

***

In a way, it was odd. From what he'd seen of Verone before, Brian had expected the guy to have a sadistic streak he'd also let into his sex life. He hadn't really thought about it all that much, but somehow, he had considered Verone to be into whips and knifes and blood play and all that shit. But apparently, he'd been wrong. Verone didn't seem to be particularly keen to cause him pain. The first nights he'd kept him in handcuffs – but only after the sex, and probably just because he was afraid that Brian would run off in the night. Now, even the cuffs were gone.

Sure, Verone obviously got off power play, but wrestling Brian down seemed to be the kinkiest he got. Not that Brian would complain. It seemed like his and Verone's sexual preferences were pretty compatible. 

Maybe too much. It was frightening how well Verone could play his body just after a couple of days. Sometimes, it only took as much as one look, or the careless brush of fingers against his shoulder, and Brian's whole body was on fire.

He hated it. Hated it because he didn't hate it enough. It wasn't that he actually _liked_ Verone. More like, his body liked Verone's body and what it could do with him.

It became too much, until he couldn't stand it anymore. 

Half a month into his unwilling stay at Verone's Columbian residence, Brian decided he could dare to try and escape. 

He had watched Verone for more than two weeks now, knew his habits – knew what exactly he looked like when he was so deeply asleep that Brian's movements would remain unnoticed. He grabbed his clothes and snuck out of the bedroom quietly, walked down the stairs on tip toes. He hardly dared to breathe until he was at the front door, which was mercifully unlocked. 

The reason for that apparent carelessness struck him when he closed the door behind himself. Like a giant, the guard stood up in front of him. "What the –" Cornered, his blood suddenly running cold, Brian struck. No defensive blow, no messing around. A neat, quick move that broke the guy's neck.

Then, he ran.

He got as far as the iron gate at the entrance, where three guys were suddenly on him, wrestling him down as he was kicking and screaming. Blows rained down on him, and a vicious kick into his abdomen made his voice break. They wouldn't stop, and he quickly lost count of just how many times he'd been kicked and beaten. He just hoped that he would black out before they beat him to death. 

"Enough!" Verone's voice cut through the air like a whiplash, and suddenly, the blows ceased. The gorillas still held him down, even though he couldn't have stood if he had tried, much less made a run for it. 

He could barely raise his head to look at Verone, and when he did, he almost wished he hadn't. The man's face was contorted in anger, and the gleam of the gun in his hand was hard to miss. Wearily, Brian closed him eyes, swallowing the urge to apologize. 

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't let them finish the job," Verone hissed.

Brian didn't say anything – didn't _have_ anything to say. He just lay there, waiting.

"Do you want to die?" Verone asked coolly, and something in his tone told Brian that it wasn't a trick question.

"You know I don't," he replied weakly, his voice hoarse from the screaming. He coughed, and – holy fucking Jesus – it _hurt_. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he added, "I had to try." It was as close to an apology as he'd get, but apparently, it was enough for Verone. 

"Well, don't try again. The next time, I won't stop them." He turned and walked back to the house, calling a casual "help him up" over his shoulders to his goons.

"Ricardo is dead," one of them said, and Verone spun around to face him. 

"Well, then you'd better get rid off the body, don't you?" 

Brian watched in amazement as Verone walked away. Somehow, he hadn't expected to survive that. Apparently his skills as a whore were better than he had thought. The idea brought a bitter half-smile to his battered face.

It was a week until he saw Verone again after that episode. Brian didn't know whether he was out of town or if he just stayed away because he was too angry with Brian. If Verone was still in the house, he slept somewhere else, because Brian was left alone in the huge bed. Just as well – because there wasn't a single spot in his body that didn't hurt. Even the gentle touch of the silken sheets against his skin was pure, hot white pain. He didn't sleep at all the first night, and the night after he only fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion and woke up at half past four when he turned in his sleep and his hand accidentally hit a nasty bruise on his stomach.

He pissed blood for three days, and when he used the bathroom mirror in a fruitless attempt to shave himself by the end of the week, he noticed that his face was turning into colorful shades of green and yellow.

The next morning, he woke up to find Verone leaning against the opposite wall, watching him inscrutably. There was a sharp, most unwelcome pang of relief in Brian's chest, which he tried to fight down. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be... happy to see Verone. _Hello, Stockholm Syndrome. Nice to meet you._

They regarded each other quietly for a moment, the silence heavy and oppressive between them. Finally, it was Brian who broke down first. "Hey." Not the most original thing to say, he thought wryly. 

Surprisingly, it brought out the hint of a smile. "You look like shit."

"Charming," Brian grumbled. "Flattery will get you anywhere." But when Verone approached and set down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to trail his fingertips over Brian's naked torso, his body reacted. 

"I take it you've missed me."

Brian's reply was to quietly mutter something about the Stockholm Syndrome, which made Verone laugh. 

"Maybe," Verone conceded, still smiling. "Or maybe you just like the sex." He climbed on top of Brian, the harsh denim of his jeans brushing painfully against bruised skin. "Tell me something, Brian. There was a gun on the nightstand next to my head. Why didn't you shoot me before you ran off?"

Brian shrugged as well as he could in his position. "I actually thought about getting the gun, but then I thought you might wake up if I walked around too much. Probably wouldn't have shot you either way, though. No need to; you were out like a light. But the gun would have come in handy down at the gate."

Verone's blue eyes stared at him appraisingly for a long moment, as if to figure out whether he was saying the truth. Then, apparently satisfied, Verone nodded. He made no move to get off the younger man.

Brian winced. "You're hurting me." Belated, he realized that this might be exactly what Verone intended.

He was slightly worried when there was a feral grin on Verone's face. "I mea—" Before he could continue, Verone had suddenly spun them around, coming to rest on his back with Brian on top of him. "Well, we'll just have to be a bit more creative then." 

Brian learned something about Verone that morning: he could play Verone's body just as well as Verone could play his; and the eight nights he had stayed away had been as lonely for Verone as they had been for Brian. 

The knowledge was comforting, somehow.

***

They fell into an easy routine. Verone apparently trusted him to have learned from his stupid attempt to escape not to try again and left him roaming the house on his own during daytime. It was as if the incident had shown him that Brian needed his freedom, and this was his way of granting it. It wasn't enough, but it was a start. Brian spent most of his days out at the pool, or in the library. He had never been big on reading, but with no TV in the house, there was little else he could do, and he gradually came to appreciate it. What Verone was doing during the day, he didn't know. He only saw him in the early mornings and evenings. Some days, they'd share dinner. Most of the time, though, they skipped it.

The nights were full of hard, passionate sex that left Brian's body both exhausted and aching for more. Sometimes, they would talk afterwards. Sometimes, Verone would fall asleep spooned around Brian's body.

Brian wondered how Monica could have stood it, how she could have been with Verone without falling under his spell. He wished he had asked her.

One night, Carter – _Verone,_ Brian kept reminding himself whenever his mind slipped and he mentally used the other man's given name – drew lazy circles on Brian's flushed skin, effectively keeping Brian from falling asleep. "How did you get here?" he asked.

Brian looked at him as if he'd grown horns. "Well, far as I remember, I walked into my home, and one of your goons knocked me out."

Verone tweaked a nipple, half-playful, and Brian yelped.

"You know what I mean," he told Brian. "You're not a customs officer. How come you and your friend went undercover for them."

Brian shifted uncomfortably. "It's a long story," he said evasively. Verone raised an eyebrow, and Brian sighed. He should have known that this wouldn't be enough.

"We have all night."

And suddenly, Brian realized that he _wanted_ to tell the story. Not necessarily to Verone, just... someone. Anyone. So he started at the beginning: how he was with the LAPD, how he always dreamed of being a detective. How everything went wrong once he took that undercover job. He told Verone about Dom – and he told him the whole story, not just the fragments he'd given Rome or Bilkins or anyone else. He didn't even know why he did; it just felt good to talk.

Verone regarded him curiously. "Let me get this straight? You fell in love with the mark – after you went and fucked his sister to get into the fold – and then you helped him escape, which lost you your job?"

Well, when he put it like that, it sounded like a bad movie script. Brian shrugged. "That pretty much sums it up, yeah."

The sarcastic dig he expected didn't come. "Where is he now?" Verone asked instead.

"No idea." He liked to imagine Dom was safe somewhere, with Mia and the others. But for all he knew, he might be dead, or maybe back in Lompoq.

"You never tried to find him?"

Brian turned to Verone. "Why would I? He wouldn't want me to. Hell, he'd probably kill me."

Verone gave him an odd look that seemed to say, 'Never figured you for a quitter' and felt like a challenge. "He might not."

With a snort, Brian shook his head. "He's a tough-ass macho gangster and I completely fucked him over. Why would he do anything but kill me – much less allow me into his bed?"

It took another raised eyebrow from Verone to make Brian realize the irony of what he had just said. He blushed scarlet. "Point. But it's not the same. When I fucked you over, it was business. When I betrayed him, it was personal. I betrayed his family. And that's not something he'd ever forgive."

He stared off into the distance, remembering Dom. How they'd first met. Their talk in the garage, when Dom had told him about his dad. Mia, telling Brian that Dom owned him now. The hurt in Dom's eyes when he'd learned the extend of his betrayal. The sight of Dom driving off with his car. 

Brian closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Carter suddenly drew him close against his body. "Sleep," he ordered. And Brian did.

***

Brian stopped counting the days after three months. No one would come for him. There probably wasn't anyone who missed him in the first place. The few friends he had made in Miami knew that he had been in trouble with the law and probably thought he had moved on to avoid getting caught. Rome most likely concluded that he was off with some chick. Bilkins would think he was trying to find Dom. No one would question his sudden departure - they all knew he was a guy who needed his freedom.

Funny, though, that he didn't miss his freedom so terribly much now. A golden cage was still a cage, sure, but he had found that maybe he didn't mind being caged all that much. He missed cars. Missed racing. He missed surfing sometimes.

Apart from that, he couldn't say he was unhappy, even though he knew he should be. He sometimes felt guilty for accepting his situation so... eagerly.

But it was remarkable how easy it was to accept something you know you cannot change. Verone wouldn't let him go. They never spoke of it, but Brian knew that Verone simply couldn't afford it anymore. He knew too much. Not about Verone's business, no, but about Carter Verone the man. About how he thought, what made him tick. With what Brian knew, a profiler could probably work out a so detailed picture of the other man's mind that they would catch him in no time. And Verone must have known that as well. He certainly wasn't a stupid man – letting Brian go was a risk too high to take.

At the same time, Brian knew it couldn't go on like this forever. One of these days, Carter would either tire of him or would move on, and then Brian would be just unnecessary ballast. There was nothing he could do about it. Of course, he could always try to escape, but somehow, he doubted that it would go much better than the last time around. Verone hadn't kept the gun on his nightstand since that night – and Brian had learned the hard way that he couldn't take on the guards unarmed and single-handed.

With escape not being an option, all he could do was wait and enjoy it while it lasted. Map Carter's body. Revel in his touch. Feel, not think.

***

The end came quicker than Brian had expected it to. He was in bed, reading as he waited for Carter to come for him. Brian knew that Verone was down on the terrace with some other guys, who looked like they came straight out of "The Godfather". He'd stood by the window and watched them for a minute earlier, but it had been too far away to hear what they were saying. 

When the door finally opened and Carter entered, he seemed... different. Anxious. On the edge.

"Something wrong?" Brian asked, against better knowledge. 

Carter just shook his head and undressed quietly. Then he looked at Brian, and there was something in his eyes Brian had never seen before. And somehow, suddenly, he knew that this would be the last time. 

Brian closed his eyes, reminding himself that he had to accept what he couldn't change, and when Carter reached for him, he grasped the offered hand desperately, not willing to let go. 

Strange, he thought, that it would be over just like that, no fight, no angry words. Neither of them mentioned it, but it was in every look, every almost-tender gesture, every wistful touch that drove Brian to the edge of sanity. He arched into Carter's hands, his body on fever. When a hot mouth closed over his leaking hardness, he screamed, and couldn't hold back, couldn't stop coming, couldn't even think anymore.

When he opened his eyes, Carter's face was inches from his own, clear blue eyes burning into his. _Cold fire,_ he thought. But then that wonderful, talented mouth crashed right onto his own, and he forgot just who Carter Verone was and why he should care. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he dully noticed that they had never kissed before – not on the mouth anyway. Sure, they had done almost everything else two people could do with each other, but kissing had never come into the equation. It had been a business deal. His body for his life. Punishment, in a way. Kissing had been more intimacy than Carter wanted, or Brian could afford. 

But now... now Carter kissed him, possessively, almost desperately, like it meant something. Like Dom might have kissed him, if they'd had the chance... Brian didn't think he'd ever get it now. He didn't think he'd ever get the fucking chance to kiss anyone again after tonight, so he decided to make the most out of it, giving Carter back as good as he got, tongues dueling frantically, teeth sinking into lips, both of them consuming each other. 

Later, he lay beside the other man's sleeping form, staring at the ceiling. Tonight had been about _him_ , for once, and while it had felt wonderful while it lasted, he couldn't shake off the bitter aftertaste now. It had been a goodbye, maybe even an apology for what was to come – even though, really, he didn't think Verone was a man who apologized. 

He didn't want to die, but it didn't scare him, and he knew that there was no alternative. If Verone had made up his mind, and it was quite obvious that he had, no amount of begging and pleading or threatening would stop him. Even if he killed Verone now, he wouldn't make it out of here alive. Still, he was contemplating that, if he had to die, whether it wouldn't be ironic justice to take Verone with him. Kill him in his sleep. Strangle him, push the pillow onto his face until he ceased to struggle... It wouldn't be impossible. 

Brian was still contemplating whether he should do it hours later, when exhaustion finally took its toll and sleep overcame him.

***

"O'Connor!"

Brian groaned and turned around, mumbling something unintelligible to the voice which tore him out of his sleep. A sharp slap brought him to his senses; and he defiantly stared up at Carter. _Déjà vu,_ he thought.

The older man's face was expressionless, but there was a trace of humor in his voice. "It's almost noon, O'Connor. Did I wear you out that much last night?"

"I didn't sleep well," he muttered, suddenly angry with himself. _Way to go, Bri. Your last day and you spent it sleeping away._ He sighed. What was it they said? You can still sleep when you're dead? 

"Well, no time now," Carter told him, and the humor was gone. "There's a plane waiting to get me to Europe. I'm off in half an hour." 

So, that was it. Brian wondered whether he should get up for his execution but decided not to bother. In a way, it was fitting that he should die in Carter Verone's bed, in the end. "Just make it quick, alright?"

Carter reached into his jacket; and Brian closed his eyes. Somehow, he decided, it had been worth it. There were worse ways to go.

"Toretto's in Baja, Mexico," Carter stated impassively, almost bored. "Has a small house there, and a shithole of a garage. Living alone, not seeing anyone, save for the occasional whore. Who, in most cases, happens to be blond and male." Brian's eyes flew open at that, the shock over what Verone had just revealed for a moment clouding over the equally shocking realization that there was no bullet in his brain and Carter stood above him not with the gun he expected, but with a slice of paper in his outstretched hand. Hesitantly, Brian took it. It was an address in Mexico, scribbled in Verone's handwriting. While he read it, the other man continued, "Now, I cannot say whether he still hates you or whether he ever did in the first place. But I have it on good authority that even if he does, you might just win him over." 

At that, he offered Brian a small grin.

The full impact of Carter's words suddenly hit Brian. "You're letting me go?" he muttered, unbelieving.

Carter rolled his eyes. "You have a fascinating talent for stating the obvious. Yes, I'm letting you go. Don't make me regret it. And don't say I never did anything for you."

Brian stared at Carter for a long moment, still unsure what to make of the unexpected gesture. Coming to a sudden decision, he rolled out of bed in a smooth motion and walked over to Carter, bringing their mouths together. Unveiled desire mingled with a trace of regret and something that could have been absolution in a hard, passionate kiss. "In a weird way, I'm going to miss you, man," Brian said when he broke away.

Verone chuckled. "Let's not get sentimental." He reached out and brushed a non-existent lock of hair off Brian's face, as if to belie his statement. "Take care of yourself, Brian. Don't mess with dangerous criminals, and don't fuck their girlfriends."

"Is there a rule about fucking _them_?" Brian asked with a smirk on his lips.

"Smartass!" Carter released him and turned to go. He was almost out of the door when he turned back. His tone was unusually soft. "If they had sent you instead of Monica, their little scheme might have worked out the way they planned."

The unexpected admission brought a wistful smile onto Brian's face. "If it had been me instead of Monica," he replied softly, "No one would have told them about the airfield." 

They looked at each other; and it felt like an eternity passed. Carter opened his mouth as if to say something; and Brian was suddenly afraid that he might ask him to come along to Europe. Given the option, he wasn't sure how he'd decide. But then, Carter just nodded with a small smile. Without another word, he left.

Brian didn't move until he felt the engine of Carter's car howling, doubtlessly taking the other man to his plane. Then, he shook himself out of his stupor. There was no use dwelling on might-have-been's. He had a trip to Mexico to make.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Written all the way back in 2005.


End file.
